The Last Waltz
by LadyOfThePens
Summary: A oneshot fic where a wedding is abay, and Arthur tries to teach Francis to waltz. Better than it sounds, I promise. FrUK, GerIta and SuFin.


**Author's note:**

**I recently became a Hetalia-fan; and watched all the episodes in about two days. So when I saw the movie; and especially the FrUK moment, I fangirled the screen and decided to write a fic about them and my other favourite pairings. I don't speak French, Italian or Finnish; all those are translated by Google. **

**I don't own Hetalia; wish I did, though…**

**EDIT: French and Finnish now looked to by Croc'Sushi and Pakkaskunigatar. Thanks you two!**

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><p><strong>The Last Waltz<strong>

"Why do we have to do this?" Francis complain, flicking his stupidly long blonde hair in the manner I hate so dearly.

"I've told you already; you'll have to learn to waltz in time for the wedding." I explain once again.

"I know that; but why does it have to be you?" How could he make every `th´ sound like a `z? ´ It sounds so stupid. "And why are you taking the lead?"

"Because," I groan. "I actually know how to waltz. And you look like a girl with that ridiculously long hair." God, he's stupid!

Francis huffs at me; sending a stream of wine-scented air into my face, causing me to cough. What's with the French and their wine, anyway? "Isn't there someone else who could teach me, Artur?" Why did he have to pronounce my name in that stupid way? "I don't like dancing with you."

"I don't like this anymore than you do. Learn to deal with it." I swiftly move from his kick, smirking wickedly. "And you could also learn to aim better."

"I hate you." How can three small words hurt me so badly? How can they hut me; coming from _him_? Sighing lightly, I remember why it hurts me; I love him. I love that insufferable, snail-eating frog, and I cannot deny it, not even to myself.

"I hate you." I retort, my mind cursing me for saying it. "Frog."

"Oh, hon hon hon hon," his laugh is just so silly, I can't help but smile. "You don't really, _mon ami_, do you?"

"Oh, you bet I do." I glare at him. "I hate you with all my heart."

"_Chèr Angleterre, ne me mens pas._" He grins at me, flicking his hair once more.

"Stop with the French. You know I don't speak your frog-language." I shove him away from myself. "We're done practicing."

I'm not sure, but there seems to be a look of disappointment dashing over his face before it settles on a smirk.

"Did my _fantastique_ handsomeness become too strong for you, _Angleterre_?" he tease.

"Again with the French." I mutter before exiting the room, blushing furiously at how he'd managed to tell my feelings so easily. "Now, where is that French dictionary?"

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><p>There is a small difference in time between Sweden and my home, one hour to be exact, and, since the wedding was to be held early in the morning, I had to get up before the sunrise. I'd hate to admit it, but I can have quite a temper when I have to rise early in the morning. When my alarm-clock went of, there was a moment when I considered hexing it; but then I sighed and sat up to rub the sleep out of my eyes.<p>

_"Bonjour Angleterre, je commençais à me demander quand est ce que tu te réveillerais."_

Oh, damn it. Francis had been staying in my house so that he would actually remember to attend the wedding at all. And he'd obviously come up with the bright; note the sarcasm, idea to set my clock to a much earlier time.

"What time is it?" I groan.

"Three o'clock." he grins matter-of-factly. "I'm bored, do you have any wine?"

"You're not getting drunk in _my _house."

_"Hé bien ! Il semblerait que quelqu'un ne soit pas du matin!"_

I don't even bother to retort him this time; he isn't worth it. He's nothing but a slimy git, a French arse, or so I've tried to tell myself. There's no need to tell it doesn't always work out when I say it.

"Hon hon hon hon," Francis chuckles. "_A__mour_. Much to my surprise, he leans in and kisses me on both cheeks. "_L'on t'a déjà dit combien tu es beau_?"

I really need to get my hands on that dictionary. "What are you doing?" I wail, stupidly pulling my covers to above my head. "You can't just-"

He leaves, the ghost of a sad smile etched onto his lips; those sweet, wonderful lips! How I wanted them to kiss me again, but 'I've probably ruined every chance of it now. Damn it!

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><p>He's fallen asleep next to me. His head is propped up against mine in a way that allows his silky hair to brush over my neck with every breath he takes. I could shove him away; I <em>should <em>shove him away, we're on an airplane, anyone could see us. But I don't. Instead, I let him snuggle in closer, and I listen to him sleeping.

"_Je t'aime, Angleterre_." he murmurs in his sleep. I stiffen; that's a word I know. How could I not; that git throws it at anything that moves. _I love you_… And _Angleterre_; that's what he usually calls me, it means England, right? He loves me?

"I love you too." I whisper, sure that he can't hear me.

A smile spreads over his face, even more beautiful when he's asleep, and he speaks again;"_Je sais, idiot. Je sais._" He nuzzles his face into the curve of my neck; I can feel his warm breath against my skin. There is only one word to describe this feeling; heaven.

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><p>"Arthur!" My brother is overly optimistic about seeing me. "I thought you wouldn't make it here alive."<p>

"Why wouldn't I?" I ask, hugging Alfred back.

"Dude, you were flying with Francis, you guys, like, totally hate each other!" Alfred exclaims. "So, dude, how'd you survive and stuff?"

"Don't forget you're talking to a former pirate, brother."

Behind me, I could hear Francis snorting at me, something I let pass by unattended to, for now…

"_J'y croirais quand je le verrais..._" he mutteres under his breath.

"Yeah, I keep forgetting. Sorry, dudes, but the hero has got to go." My brother can be so arrogant; you may have noticed that already.

"_Angleterre_." Francis had sneaked up on my, talking into my neck. "I heard what you said on the plane."

"Aah!" I yelped. "What the hell is wrong with you? You can't just sneak up on an empire like that!"

Suddenly, all eyes in the room are staring at the two of us with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. Blushing deeply, I step away from Francis to stare at him along with the rest of us. He'd been asleep at the plane, so he couldn't have heard. He must've guessed I'd said something about him, that's it.

"Um… What are you two doing?" Tino; the blushing bride to be, nervously asks, holding Berwald's hand in a firm grip.

"That frog sneaked up on me!" I howl, pointing at Francis to make it clearer.

"I did no such thing." Francis lies, blowing a kiss in my direction. "It must be your wicked imagination."

Remember I said I love him? Well, I changed my mind; I hate him, he's such a git.

"Can I have this dance, _chèr_?" Francis bows to me with sparkling eyes.

"You're supposed to dance with a girl." I inform him, he probably doesn't know this.

"I know; that's what I'm doing." How can he look so beautiful when smirking teasingly? "And, besides, Veneziano and Ludwig doesn't seem to have anything against it."

I glance at the subjects of his statement; he's right, they seem to be happy together. Feliciano always smile, that's not very different; but so is Ludwig. Now that's an unusual sight.

"I guess we can dance." I sigh. "But I'm leading."

"_Je ne crois pas, non_." Francis places his hand on my waist and takes my hand, he's obviously planning on taking the lead.

During the dance, Francis steers me into Feliciano and Ludwig; that frog ought to learn how to steer properly in a dance.

"_Ciao Arthur! Come stai? Hai portato alcun pasta? Stai ballando con Francis! Come sta? Ha alcun diritto_?"

"_Feliciano. Wer geht zu eine Hochzeit mit pasta_?" Ludwig growls.

"_Faccio!_" the Italian exclaims in his general happy manner. "_Ballaimo!_" And the blonde German is dragged back into the dance. "Good luck with him, Francis!" Feliciano calls back to us, waving at my companion.

"Good luck with what?" I ask without looking at Francis.

"This." Francis takes a careful but firm hold of my chin, turning my face up. Before I know it; his lips are pressed against mine. I open my mouth to gasp, indirectly allowing his tongue to enter it. "I love you, Artur." he murmurs into my mouth, and I don't think his accent makes my name sound stupid anymore. It actually sounds quite cute.

Just when I'm about to tell him I know, or that I love him too, the newly wedded couple crash into us.

"_Olen niin pahoillani, en tarkoittanut_!" Tino cries in his native tongue, offering his hand to help me to my feet.

"Ja, förlåt." Berwald mutters, a man of few words as always. "'re you 'l r'ght?"

"Yes, no problem. Right, Francis?"

"I don't know…" Francis groans, still on the floor.

"_Perkele._" Tino curses. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

"He'll be fine after a glass of wine, or something." I gesture for them to move along, which they reluctantly do.

"_Jag sa ju det_." Tino giggles in Swedish.

Berwald sighs. "_Niinpä taisit…_"

Francis sits up, rubbing his temples. "I wouldn't feel better after just some wine." he smiles at me, trying to hide the fact that he's in pain.

"No?"

"_Non_. I'd feel better if you'd let me kiss you again." That man is so flirtatious. But at least he doesn't taste like wine now. "Will you?"

"_Oui._" I whisper in the best French I can manage. "I will." I sit down in front of him, leaning closer for the kiss. "I love you."

"I know, _chère_." he chuckles, placing a light kiss on my forehead. "_Mais c'est la dernière fois que je valse avec vous_." he adds, as an afterthought.

"Don't be so sure." I lean in even closer. "_On ne sait jamais avec nous autres anglais_."

"You spoke French. Proper French!" he is astounded, as am I. "_Impossible_."

"Not impossible, only improbable. It must be love."

"_L'a__mor, oui._"

Then we kiss again; and I don't care who sees us. All I care about is Francis and his lips against my own. I don't even care when my brother shrieks in absolute terror;

"Dude! What's going on here?"

I love Francis, I always have.

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

**So… This is my first try at writing Hetalia. Any flamers and such will be sent to Prussia and his awesomeness.**

**Translations:**

**Mon ami **= my friend

**Chèr Angleterre, ne me mens pas**= Dear England, don't lie to me

**Fantastique** = Fantastic

**Bonjour Angleterre, je commençais à me demander quand est ce que tu te réveillerais **= Hello, England. I was beginning to wonder when you were going to wake up.

**Hé bien ! Il semblerait que quelqu'un ne soit pas du matin!" **= ! It seems someone's being grumpy!

**Amour **= Love

**L'on t'a déjà dit combien tu es beau? = **Has anyone told you you're beautiful?

_**Je t'aime, Angleterre**_**. **= I love you, England.

**Je sais, idiot. Je sais. **= I know, stupid. I know.

**J'y croirais quand je le verrais **= I'll believe it when I see it

**Je ne crois pas, non **= I wouldn't think so

**Ciao Arthur! Come stai? Hai portato alcun pasta? Stai ballando con Francis! Come sta? Ha alcun diritto? **= Hi Arthur! How are you! Did you bring any pasta? And you're dancing with Francis! How is he? Does he have any?

**Wer geht zu eine Hochzeit mit pasta? **= Who goes to a wedding with pasta?

**Faccio! **= I do!

**Ballando! **= Let's dance!

**Olen niin pahoillani, en tarkoittanut! **= I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!"

**Ja, förlåt.** = Yeah, sorry.

**Perkele. **= a common Finninsh swear.

**Jag sa ju det! **= I told you so!

**Niinpä taisit **= I guess you did.

**Mais c'est la dernière fois que je valse avec vous**= But this is the last time I waltz with you.

**On ne sait jamais avec nous autres anglais= **You never know with us Englishmen.

**Impossible **= pretty much what it sounds like

**L'amour, oui** = Love, yes.


End file.
